


What the spirit reaches for

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Long Way Around [32]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, House Hunting, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: Woody Allen once said, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." With that in mind, Darcy had to wonder if there was anyone who could make God laugh quite like Steve Rogers.Spring/Summer 1975: Buying a house
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Series: The Long Way Around [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1402126
Comments: 61
Kudos: 223





	What the spirit reaches for

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Crim for throwing out some ideas for the kinds of houses Steve and Darcy could be walking through.

_April 26 th   
House #2_

“You’re in luck,” Carol’s heels had clicked up the walkway from the driveway. “The current owners are both interior designers—they recently updated every room in the house.”

Her fingers entwined with Steve’s, Darcy’s eyebrows had lifted with interest as they followed Carol up to the porch. “Every room?”

“Mmhmm,” the realtor hummed in affirmation while she dug for the key and twisted it in the lock. “Brand new wallpaper, windows, and carpeting throughout.”

She pushed open the door and allowed the two of them to step inside before she turned on the light and Darcy screamed.

No, not screamed. She hadn’t screamed. But she _had_ yelped. Loudly.

The living room was blue. Bright _cerulean_ blue. Everything in it was blue. Blue-jay-patterned wallpaper, matching blue-jay-printed curtains, blue venetian blinds beneath those curtains, and bright blue shag carpet.

“That’s…a—um—” Steve had coughed when Carol looked at them, concerned by Darcy’s outburst. “Bold use of color.”

Carol had brightened again. “Each room is done in a similar theme, but with a different color in each. Wait until you see the shade of orange they chose for the master bedroom.”

_May 10 th  
House #5_

There was a little too much wood paneling for Darcy to not feel claustrophobic as she made her way through the empty rooms. The living room and dining room were both paneled and with windows that were too small to let any real light in.

And of course, curtains again.

Always curtains. So many curtains. Oceans of curtains.

Carol had learned to hang back and let them roam but she caught Darcy’s eye and smiled warmly. “Would you like to see the kitchen?”

“Of course,” Darcy answered immediately. She didn’t know where Steve was, but the house wasn’t big, she reminded herself. She’d bump into him eventually.

Carol pushed through a set of flimsy folding doors and into a kitchen painted lime green. “This one also comes with brand new, matching fixtures so you won’t have to worry about unreliable appliances for quite some time.”

“That’s…convenient,” Darcy said faintly along a gold and cream Formica countertop.

“They even match the washer and dryer,” Carol said cheerfully. “I’ll leave you to take a good look around.” She slipped out through the folding doors and Darcy heard her again before she’d made it down the hall. “She’s right in there.”

She looked up as Steve entered and had to bite back a laugh when he was stopped quite literally in his tracks. “Why is it so bright in here?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Darcy grinned. “Are you referring to the chartreuse paint or these entirely brand new and all matching appliances?” she asked before she raised her voice. “Carol, what color would you say these fixtures are?”

There was a flutter of paper from the clipboard Carol carried with her at all times. “Harvest Gold,” she called back from the front of the house.

Darcy grinned again. “Harvest Gold.”

Steve winced. “I…don’t feel great in here.”

“Yeah…” she glanced around. It was unfortunate. She hadn’t completely hated this house. “This room looks like how anxiety feels.”

“I feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

“Okay,” she sighed and took hold of his sleeve, turning him from the offensive décor. “No Harvest Gold for us.”

_  
May 19 th_

Darcy looked up from the dangling price tag of the living room set. It was reasonable, not hideously ugly, and the couch, loveseat, and armchair were all relatively comfortable. “Maybe they can hold it for us,” she mused aloud, biting her lip. “Like if we bought it today, they could deliver it whenever we finally find a house?” No answer from the husband who had been right behind her. “Or should we just wait?” she asked, scribbling down the item number from the price tag to speak with the salesman. She turned and frowned. “Steve?”

She spun all the way around, about to call his name louder when she spotted his familiar mop of hair across the store. Confused as to what he was doing so close to the ground, she abandoned her search for a more comfortable couch and made her way through the models of living and dining rooms, stopping short when she realized what he’d discovered. “Oh my God.”

From his seat on a brown corduroy beanbag chair, Steve looked almost hurt. “Why didn’t anyone ever tell me about these?”

Darcy snorted and repeated herself. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious!” he demanded lightly. “Why did I have to come all the way to 1975 to find out about beanbag chairs?”

“Probably for the same reason no one told you about the homophobic scandal with the Teletubbies,” Darcy said, holding out her hands to pull him up. “You’d already suffered so much.”

“Who’s suffering?” Steve laughed. “This is so comfortable.”

She let out a heavy sigh and wiggled her fingers, waiting for him to take her hands. “I’m not buying beanbags.”

“Have you ever sat on one?”

She laughed. “Steve, I will live in this decade with its polyester blended nightmare pants and Farrah-flip my hair and pretend like Ford has any business in the White House with the rest of my peers but I will not— _repeat not—_ go so native as to own beanbag furniture.”

Steve stretched his hands out for hers, but instead of standing up, he gave a swift tug and pulled her down onto his lap. She let out a loud sound of surprise and collapsed on top of him with a heavy _ooph_. “See?” he said as she righted herself and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Look how nice this is.”

Darcy giggled. “We’re _not_ buying this.”

“They have different upholstery options,” he went on, making her laugh harder. “We could probably get a whole living room set to match whatever decorating atrocity is waiting for us in our new house.”

She shook her head, her hair falling from its ponytail to brush against his face. “Anyway, love of my life,” she draped an arm over his shoulder. “I thought the point of buying new furniture was to find something we could have sex on.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “Is that the only reason?”

She shrugged. “Only reason I’m here.”

“Are you saying we can’t have sex on a beanbag?”

“I’m saying I’ve _tried_ ,” she laughed softly. “And it’s neither fun nor easy.”

“You probably weren’t doing it right,” he assured her, reaching a hand up to pull her down for kiss.

She smiled against his lips. “How about a compromise?” she asked between kisses. “No beanbags.” Another kiss. “But the equally groovy and way more comfortable papasan, instead.”

Steve pulled back, eyebrows lifted. “The kind we hang from the ceiling?”

Darcy giggled. “Definitely.”

_June 7 th  
House #8_

The ceilings were too low and the windows all too small. It had already started to feel like a prison cell before Carol added, “The current owner is moving in with her daughter. All the furniture will have to be sold with the house.”

All the furniture was imprisoned in plastic slipcovers. Every single piece.

_House #9_

“Sunken living room _and_ sunken tub,” Darcy commented once they got back in their car and she crossed it off the list. “Getting up in the middle of the night in that house would be like walking a minefield.”

Steve sighed.

_House #12_

She caught his gaze in the reflection and frowned. “You look like you want to buy this house,” she stated plainly.

Steve sighed and turned around to lean against the double sink of the master bathroom. “I want to buy _a_ house,” he reminded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t care if it’s this one or any of the last ten we’ve looked at. I’m just sick of looking,” he admitted around another heavy exhale.

Darcy’s frown deepened. “But this one?” She looked around the bathroom at the pendant lights hung by heavy gold chains, the bright red toilet, sinks, and bathtub, and the gold shag carpet. “This bathroom looks like a crime scene.”

Steve dropped his arms and reached out to pull her over to stand in front of him. He rested his hands on her hips and dropped his chin to look her squarely in the eyes. “Darcy.”

It was her turn to sigh. “Steve.”

“Do you remember what our apartment looked like when we moved in?”

Her nose scrunched before the rest of her face. “Empty?”

He smiled softly. “Empty,” he agreed. “And run down. All the doors squeaked, and the locks stuck, and the linoleum peeled up in the bathroom and the kitchen—”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like that anymore—”

“I know,” he smiled. “Because you kept dragging me to the hardware store,” he reminded softly. “For grease for the locks and hinges and glue for the floors and paint for the cabinets…and then to the store for furniture and lamps and things to hang on the walls…”

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying? You want to scrap homebuying and stay in our apartment?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No. I’m saying that our place wasn’t perfect when we moved in. It was just a place. A place we fixed and painted and changed around until it wasn’t just a place anymore,” he tugged her a little closer. “It was home.” Darcy sighed again but felt herself softening. “I know you have some picture in your head of what a house is supposed to look like,” he went on, when she didn’t have an argument. “But that’s not going to be something that’s just waiting for us right now. I can rip out carpets and paint the walls and replace the windows anywhere,” he promised. “But we have to pick a place first.” He waited another beat before he moved his shoulder. “Or we don’t—and we just stay in our apartment a little longer—”

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t want that.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “I want to do this next thing with you,” she said softly. “Roots and mortgage payments and flower beds and all that normal married couple stuff.” Steve smiled before she continued with a grimace. “But does it have to be _this_ house? Because this bathroom really is the worst and you almost bashed your head on that beam coming up the stairs—”

Steve leaned in and covered her lips with his, derailing her rant. “It doesn’t have to be this house,” he promised when he let her go.

_June 9 th  
House #13_

Carol got out of her car ahead of them, looking less than thrilled as she glanced from the house to her clipboard. Darcy peered out the window, trying not to be critical. Couldn’t tell anything from the exterior, she reminded herself, though she took it as a positive sign that she didn’t hate the little yellow house on sight.

They convened on the wide driveway and Darcy watched, concerned as Carol bit her lip. “Something wrong?

“No,” the reply came quickly and accompanied a quick shake of the head, rattling Carol’s tight red curls around her face. “Nothing wrong. Just not sure we should waste our time with the one.”

“Why not?” Steve asked before Darcy had the chance.

Carol looked conflicted again. “Well, it’s just that…” she cleared her throat. “My husband makes it a habit of only listing the most _modern_ homes with the agency. We like to offer homes that are move-in ready for young couples, and,” she glanced at the house again. “Frankly, the one would take a _lot_ of work for anyone to consider it up to our usual standards.” She sighed, looking disappointed. “I’m just warning you that it is _very_ dated as far as style goes—I only offered to show it because I know the family trying to sell it.”

Darcy gave the house another once-over. Large window in the front of the house, a little fenced in yard that snaked around back, some untended flowerbeds outside the front door. She looked back to Steve who shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here.”

“Might as well,” he agreed.

Carol nodded and straightened her blazer before she motioned for them to follow her up the walkway. Darcy held her breath and braced the for the worst as the realtor twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open, welcoming them to step inside.

But the worst wasn’t waiting for them. Instead, they stepped into a cozy living room with pale green walls and an area rug that covered scratched, but dark hardwood floors. There was a brick fireplace and Darcy’s heart jumped at the sight of the built-in bookshelves on either side. The window was fitted with curtains, but they were soft lace without ugly plastic blinds beneath them.

Carol looked at them, seemingly still holding her breath, waiting for the initial look of dissatisfaction she’d come to expect. But Darcy smiled and shook her head. “No, this is….” She bit her lip, almost afraid that the hopeful feeling—the one telling her this little yellow house already felt like home—was too much, too soon. “I like it already.”

Steve laced his fingers with her and gave her hand a squeeze.

_July 20 th_

She heard the _pop_ of the champagne and the sound of Steve pouring two glasses in the kitchen. Every sound echoed through the empty rooms; she could hear every step he took from two rooms away, their new house keys jingling in his pocket. From where she stood in the living room, she could see down the street—a man pulled into the driveway three houses down and a duo of little boys with matching heads of kinky curls tore out of the house to wrap him in a hug as he climbed out of the car, laughing. Darcy smiled softly and wondered who they were, if they’d get along.

_They’re our neighbors,_ she thought, letting her fingers drift over the mantle as the idea gave her a giddy little thrill. _We have neighbors._

A flute of bubbling champagne appeared in front of her eyes and she took it before turning around to face Steve. “What are you looking at?” he asked, glancing back over her shoulder toward the window.

She smiled wide. “Our street,” she said simply. “Which I can see from our front window. Of our _house_.” She clinked her glass to his and they each took a sip before she took his from his hand and set it on the mantle.

Her arm went around Steve’s shoulder as he let her take his hand and began to dance slowly before he smiled down at her. “We should have brought the radio,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “This is fine. I don’t need music to be able to dance with you.”

His hand slid from her waist to her back, pulling her in closer while his feet continued to move to the rhythm she’d chosen for them. His palm flattened over the small of her back. “You happy?”

“Yes,” she said softly and lifted her chin for him to kiss her. “Are you?”

“Of course I am,” he said. His nose brushed against hers before he kissed her again. “I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on tumblr: @idontgettechnology and join me at ishipitpod.com for weekly podcast on fandom and fanfic by yours truly.
> 
> *kisses*


End file.
